


For the Pleasure, For the Challenge

by spiney



Series: Mercer Backstory: Smutty Oneshots [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Backstory, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Implied Masturbation, Lingerie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Thieves Guild, Thieving During Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Villains, Wingman Gallus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney/pseuds/spiney
Summary: Maven licked her lips and leaned to speak in Mercer’s ear, her chest pressing lightly against his, her hair catching on his stubble. “I’ve enjoyed watching you speak, Mister Frey. I do hope I’ve not misjudged your talents.”A sensation like a purr filled Mercer’s chest, and he turned so his lips grazed Maven’s sharp cheekbone as he spoke. “Not at all, Miss, uh—”She shivered against him and brought a hand to his waist. “Maven will be fine.”Mercer, newly appointed as Gallus's second-in-command, gets himself involved with an important client.





	For the Pleasure, For the Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the same backstory-verse as [Fun, and Other Dangerous Pursuits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571468), later in the timeline.

In the months since Jon had left, Mercer’s mood had been stormy. He’d focused hard on his work, spent his sleepless nights poring over the Guild ledgers, spent his days berating new recruits. In an unwelcome attempt to ease tensions, Gallus had been trying to get Mercer laid. So when, at the end of a routine meeting, Maven Black-Briar had requested that the new second-in-command stay behind, that she had a _favor_ to ask, Gallus had just given him a look. _I’m certainly not going to stop you_ , the look had said, and Mercer had groaned internally and nodded. _Y_ _eah, you can go._ Mercer could handle himself.

Gallus had turned to Maven with a graceful, ridiculous bow, then exited the manor with a quick wink back at Mercer.

Asshole.

Mercer couldn’t claim a lack of interest. Maven was larger than life, her presence somehow filling the room so thick he could taste it. She was shrewd and precise and cuttingly insightful; just thinking about talking _business_ with her made him harder than he’d like to admit.

He watched her as she watched him from the other side of the dining room table. She’d left her seat, and she was walking now, a slow arc around the edge of the room, feline eyes raking over him with interest and mischief. Mercer stood at ease, back straight, tracking her movements.

“You don’t know me all that well,” he said, meeting her gaze firmly as she drew closer.

Maven smiled and tilted her head to the side, considering. She bit the inside of her lip as she came to a stop, close enough for Mercer to smell the ghost of honey on her skin.

“I find there’s something you can tell, with some men.” She looked down at Mercer, studying his face. He didn’t flinch. “Something about the way their lips spread, the way their tongues work against their teeth as they speak. Looking at a man’s mouth,” she brought the pad of her thumb to her lips and grazed across the plump, pink skin, “you can see just how much he enjoys eating cunt.”

Mercer could feel the blood draining from his face, his skin blooming hot all over. He was so, so fucked.

He swallowed, tongued his molars, held Maven’s stare. “Is that right?”

Maven licked her lips and leaned to speak in Mercer’s ear, her chest pressing lightly against his, her hair catching on his stubble. “I’ve enjoyed watching you speak, Mister Frey. I do hope I’ve not misjudged your talents.”

A sensation like a purr filled Mercer’s chest, and he turned so his lips grazed Maven’s sharp cheekbone as he spoke. “Not at all, Miss, uh—”

She shivered against him and brought a hand to his waist. “ _Maven_ will be fine.”

“Mmm. Maven, or Miss Maven?” He let his smile spread over her skin, but stayed otherwise stoic, hands at his sides, posture pristine.

Maven pulled back and brought a hand to his jaw, turning his head from side to side like some livestock she might purchase. “Well look at you. I bet you’re just full of surprises, newblood.”

“Might be.” They stared each other down as she held his face, until she released it with a soft pat to his cheek. Mercer laughed in his chest at the gesture, pressed his lips together to hold it in.

Maven stepped back, and her expression returned to the impassive, businesslike mask she’d worn through their earlier meeting. “I expect I’ll be quite interested in learning what you have to offer, Mister Frey. But—” She was eyeing him up and down again, and her chest was rising and falling with a weight that betrayed her level tone. “To be quite direct, right now I need to get off fast and hard. Do you think that clever mouth of yours is up to the task?”

Mercer maintained his composure, working to match Maven’s calculated disposition, but his heart was racing and heat was rushing to his pelvis. “I suppose we ought to stop wasting time chatting,” he said, raising his eyebrows in question.

Maven’s eyes widened and shone as she nodded. Mercer held his ground where he stood, extending a hand. Lips pursed, Maven let Mercer pull her into his space, let his free hand work its way up her spine. She wrapped a hand around the back of Mercer’s neck and teased her fingernails up into his hair, and he growled and shivered and pushed forward, walking until Maven’s hips were against the table.

He pinned her there, leaned her backward, made himself taller as he pressed a palm to the small of her back, free hand now moving over her waist, her ribs, thumb kneading into her breast. Maven was no longer attempting to disguise her lust. She watched him hungrily, arching into his hips, hands freely moving through his hair, over his face, his neck, his shoulders.

Mercer hadn’t been looking for this, hadn’t thought he’d been missing anything, but now he was here and he was wanted and wanting and gods, didn’t it just light everything on fire? He gripped at Maven’s waist with urgency. Her lips were parted, expectant, and Mercer was surprised by his own impulse as he brought a hand to the back of her head and pulled her forward into a kiss.

Maven’s mouth was yielding and wet, warm with breath and tasting of the fine brandy they’d shared earlier. She made small, needy noises against his teeth, pressed her fingers into his scalp, rocked her hips back and forth, and Mercer was lost, desperate.

But Maven had made a specific request, had dared him to prove his talents—Mercer had never been able to decline a challenge.

Mercer broke the kiss, pulled away, and Maven gripped at his collar, sending a fresh surge of need through him. With a quiet groan, he pulled his hips away from hers, aching cock protesting the sudden loss of friction. He grabbed at Maven’s skirt, pulling up the front and exposing her legs, working his hands over her soft, pale thighs.

Gripping at the thick flesh of her hips, thumbs sliding at the edges of her smallclothes, Mercer brought his mouth to Maven’s neck. His tongue rolled over something delicate, metallic, and Mercer opened his eyes as his chest burned with an idea.

The necklace was finely crafted silver, a thin chain supporting a heavy pendant with an emerald setting that rested on the swell of Maven’s breasts. He’d noticed it earlier, had made mental note of its approximate value, cataloging by reflex. He’d had no intentions of attempting to lift it, but here it was, under his tongue as its owner clutched him to her chest.

It was a helpful distraction from his own arousal—Mercer knew he would not be afforded any relief, but now he had another goal, a way to direct his energies. He brought his hands back up to Maven’s waist and slipped his thigh between her legs, pulling her close against him. She ground down onto his leg and ran a finger along his jaw.

“I thought we were going to stop wasting time, Mister Frey.” She tutted at him even as her breath caught with the movements of her hips.

Mercer worked his leg against her and brought a hand to the back of her neck, sliding his thumb and pinky finger underneath the silver chain, massaging at the sensitive skin, pulling up gooseflesh at his touch. He carefully laid his throat against hers as he spoke, letting his voice rumble there. “I can do this fast, Maven, but you asked for more than that, didn’t you?” He brought his other hand to her breast, rolling the dense flesh in his palm, one finger quietly falling to rest on the pendant, holding it in place. “Fast and hard, you said. Did I get that right?”

Maven hummed in Mercer’s ear and tugged at his hair. “I’m not a patient woman.” As she spoke, Mercer released the clasp of the necklace and gently let the ends fall wide. Carefully, quickly, he pulled back his leg and slipped his hand into Maven’s smallclothes, fingers spreading her with smooth precision. When she grabbed at his shoulders with a pleased yelp, he pulled the pendant into his palm, then let it slide down his sleeve as he moved his hand to tangle in her hair.

A sweet, warm wave of adrenaline washed over him. The way his face flushed, the slowing, heavy beat in his chest—he might as well have come. He felt smug, satisfied, invincible as the weight of the pendant sat in the crook of his elbow. He pulled Maven’s head back, watched the need grow in her face as he worked his fingers through her wetness, coating his knuckles, until he was rocking two firm fingertips over her clit and she was whimpering for him.

“ _Fast and hard_ requires just a little more patience than _fast_ ,” he said, fingers pushing and circling as Maven’s cunt flushed warmer under his hand. “It’s too bad you don’t have the time for me to show you what just plain  _hard_ looks like.” He wetted his lips and pulled Maven’s hair back farther. She growled. Mercer shrugged, then released her hair and dropped to his knees, tugging down her smallclothes as he moved.

It was important to keep Maven's attention fixed between her legs, to avoid providing her opportunities to notice the weight missing from her chest. With her thin cotton underwear still tangled at the tops of her boots, Mercer pushed Maven's thighs apart just enough to slide his tongue between her folds and suck, hard and slow. Maven braced herself on his shoulders and cursed. Mercer tugged at her smalls again and pushed up on Maven's hips. She made a strained sound of affirmation and hoisted herself onto the table, Mercer's mouth chasing her movements. He freed her legs and pulled her knees over his shoulders, then pressed her open wider, humming into her slick, pliant flesh as he tucked two fingers into the wet throb of her cunt.

Maven groaned and panted and bucked as Mercer spread his fingers and stroked her clutching walls. His mouth was steady, relentless, licking wide and wet over her clit, pulling it close to roll against his teeth, sucking it tight and sliding his tongue over the stretched, delicate skin. Maven's heels dug into his back. She was trembling, mewling now, and Mercer was playing her like an instrument, every little cry a note closer to his goal—he needed to make her come so hard she'd forget she'd even been wearing a necklace.

And oh, she was ready, ripe, dripping down his chin, pooling in the creases at the corners of his mouth. He pressed hard into her, fingers tense and curling, finding the gestures that made her flutter around his hand. He let his lips soften, easing off, and Maven let out a mournful, pathetic whine as she grabbed his hair and ground herself against his face.

Mercer smiled against her. He’d give her what she’d asked for. Another moment’s pause, a few more needy, grasping sounds from Maven’s throat, and then Mercer was on her like he was starved, jaw and tongue aching with the effort as he breathed in warm, musky air through his nose. His free hand was at her hips now, pulling her closer, and his fingers inside her coaxed and stroked, and she was coming apart, thighs starting to shake, body rocking against his mouth. Maven slammed a hand on the table and gripped the edge as she came, pulsing around Mercer’s hand and beneath his lips. He worked her through until her juices turned thin and slippery, and Mercer let his touch go soft. When Maven’s legs relaxed, he gently withdrew his fingers and licked her clean, earning a thick, appreciative moan from above.

Maven tugged his hair lightly, and Mercer stood to face her, cheeks and chin no doubt shining lewdly. He smoothed her dress back down over her legs, and she laughed and brought a hand up to wipe his face.

Maven’s breath was heavy and satisfied. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Mercer Frey?” She ran her hand down his neck, over his chest, lazy and pleased.

Mercer licked his swollen lips and smirked. “I just take pride in my work, Maven.”

“You’re in the wrong profession,” she said, fingers at his belt, tugging without any real intent.

Mercer felt a swell of anticipation. He leaned close. “I think the art of distraction is very much part of my profession.”

Maven’s brow furrowed, and Mercer raised up his hand to reveal the emerald pendant dangling from his cunt-soaked fingers. She brought a hand to her neck and exhaled sharply through her nose when she found nothing there. For a thrilling moment, Mercer thought she might slap him, might shout insults, might call for a guard. But her lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Full of surprises, indeed,” Maven said. “And you’re, what, going to be keeping the trinket as compensation? It’s fair to say you’ve earned it. Or maybe it’s just a memento, though I’m almost embarrassed for you if this little dalliance ranks highly enough to warrant sentimentality. Whatever the reason, I hope you’ve learned enough about me by now to know how little I care about jewels and baubles.”

Mercer nodded, then reached out to run his fingertips down the side of Maven’s neck. She tensed a little. He gathered her hair to one side, then refastened the necklace, adjusting it over her collarbones and bringing the pendant to rest once more in the middle of her chest.

He rubbed a thumb over her sternum. “You don’t care about the necklace,” he said. “But you do care that I can take it.” He stepped back, wiped his face, adjusted his clothes. “It’s a good thing I’m on your side, Miss Black-Briar. Now,” he gestured to the door, “are we done here?”

 

One option Mercer had considered upon leaving Black-Briar Manor was to find the nearest dark corner and spend himself right there on the stone. Instead, he went for a walk. Night had fallen, and a cool breeze spilled into the city from the lake. Vivid in his mind’s eye was Maven’s face, her calculated dismissal as she processed the sight of the necklace in his hand, the twitch of her jaw, the quickly masked surprise on her brow. He’d taken a risk, and he’d succeeded, and his pulse was so wild he was sure all the guards and tavern-goers of Riften could see it, could hear it as he passed on his way to the gates.

He took a long loop around Lake Honrich in an attempt to work through the rush of energy. He felt too good, too powerful. His stunt had been childish, and he knew he hadn’t gained anything but a tiny expression of control over a woman who could surely eat him alive. But he felt like some kind of hero, some untouchable force pushing on the world, absolutely burning up with competence and will.

It was past midnight by the time Mercer returned to the Cistern. Most of his fellow thieves were out in the darkness. Gallus sat behind his desk. When he saw Mercer crossing the room, he stood. Even at a distance, Mercer could see his satisfied smirk. Gallus crossed his arms and raised a knowing eyebrow as Mercer approached.

“Looks like you’ve got something to say, boss.”

“You,” Gallus said, reaching into a desk drawer and removing a small, paper-wrapped parcel, “have got a package.”

Mercer took it cautiously. It barely weighed more than its wrappings, and whatever was inside was soft and pliable. Fabric, it felt like. Gallus would have made the same assessment. “What is this?”

Gallus shrugged, his lips tight with suppressed amusement. “Maven’s errand boy came by. Left without a word.” He leaned in and let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “He looked awfully uncomfortable.”

“Uh huh.” Mercer sucked his teeth and sighed, then turned to walk toward the Flagon.

“Now hold on,” Gallus called, gratingly cheerful in his authority. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Mercer threw a rude gesture over his shoulder and continued across the room.

 

Settled at a well-shadowed corner table with a glass of cheap, foul wine, Mercer slid his dagger under the sturdy twine, and the paper package fell open in his lap.

He swallowed and slowly sheathed his blade. He’d been correct; it was fabric. Finely milled cotton, a trace of silk in the blend, embarrassingly expensive. Mercer noticed his breath was falling heavily, and he coughed.

It was her smallclothes. Not the same pair she’d worn earlier—these were fancier, something to wear for a special occasion. Mercer rubbed the cloth between his fingers, studying the texture, but stopped abruptly when he found his knuckles damp, just the barest hint of warmth still lingering on the fabric.

_Gods_. After a quick glance around the room, with a jump in his pulse, Mercer slowly, discreetly brought his fingers upward to rest below his nose. _Fucking gods_.

Hastily, Mercer rewrapped the package and marched out of the Flagon, leaving his wine with Delvin as he passed, mumbling a half-hearted insult. Gallus’s attention was on him again as he re-entered the Cistern, catching up with him as he pushed toward the training room.

“Gallus, I swear, I will end you.”

Gallus’s eyes shone, smug and mirthful. “So you had a good night, then?”

Mercer glared as he stood in the archway. “I’m going to close this door. I do not expect it to open again until I leave.”

“That’s the problem with only one locking door in the whole place, hm? Everyone knows what you’re doing in there?”

“Fuck off,” Mercer said, and closed the training room door on Gallus’s shit-eating grin.

 

The next morning, Mercer left the Cistern with a package of his own. It would be faster, of course, to simply deliver it himself. But these were delicate matters. He tracked down a courier.

“She takes her lunch at the Meadery, noon. Deliver it then, if you would.” He paid the boy too generously, but it was an important job.

The silky fabric would be dry by now, but Mercer was confident Maven would not suffer any confusion as to the provenance of the new material carefully folded inside. He took the long way home, striding lazily along the lower boardwalk in the morning sun, shaking his head as a strange, warm smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He thought of Maven’s sharp tongue and yielding flesh, and the scrunch of her nose and twist of her lips that would come when she unwrapped the parcel. Maybe she’d send for him; maybe she’d wait, hoping to make him squirm. But Mercer never squirmed.

The apothecary would be open by now, and Mercer considered there might be purchases he’d need to make, if this game with Maven continued.

For the moment, though, he’d wait. Eager had never been a good look on him. Boots falling heavily on creaking wood, Mercer slipped back down to the Ratway, head awash with cutting words and the distant scent of honey.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a line in the in-game book Purloined Shadows.
> 
> Thanks to [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy) and [Syllis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis) for beta reading!
> 
> Concrit always welcome :)


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